


Almost There

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery, Crushes, Dessert & Sweets, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Eric Bittle works as a baker in a food court bakery. Jack Zimmermann comes to food court bakeries more than one might expect of a professional athlete. This is the story of how they eventually got their act together.





	Almost There

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything since February?? What is wrong with me??
> 
> Title taken from ["Almost There" from 'The Princess and the Frog'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irEBOfv4Ug4).

Eric R. Bittle had been working at Haus der Pastry for six months when he first met Jack Zimmermann. At the time, he did not yet know his name, or his job, or anything about him beyond “tall dark-haired man with a Canadian accent and broody face,” all of which was fairly obvious upon first seeing him. When Jack - who Bitty mentally only called ‘The Guy’ at first, capitals necessary - first came up to Haus der Pastry, he asked for Lardo, Bitty’s manager and roommate and close friend. As it turned out, a friend of The Guy’s was also a friend of Lardo’s, The Guy explained, as Bitty stared up at his face. The Guy scowled at him when Bitty missed a question.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I zoned out, what was that?” Bitty asks, and The Guy’s expression shifts before it goes back to broody and scowly again.

“Do you mind getting Lardo?” The Guy repeats. Bitty thinks he must know Lardo well enough to call her ‘Lardo’ instead of ‘Larissa’. “Please.”

The ‘please’ was all Bitty needed, and he got Lardo for The Guy. When he asks her at the end of the day about him, she scoffs.

“Shitty’s roommate,” Lardo explains to him. “Jacques Zimmermann. Goes by Jack. He plays hockey or something, Shitty says he’s good but I’ve never seen him play.”

“Great, he sounds nice,” Bitty says, paying too much attention while trying to act like he was only casually half-listening. Lardo raises an eyebrow at him.

“He got one of your tiny apple pies to go,” Lardo tells him, and Bitty smiles before he can stop himself.

“Well, I’ll just have to restock again, then, won’t I?” Bitty replies, and Lardo ruffles his hair.

* * *

Jack did not return for a couple of days, during which Bitty did _not_ Google him, thank you very much, and find out that he was about to sign in Providence with the hockey team there (though Bitty had always been more of a figure skating man himself). That explained why Jack had abruptly arrived in his life there in Barrington, Rhode Island, if he seemed to be fixing to be on their team. Bitty was impressed enough that the information was interesting, but not so impressed that he treated Jack any differently when he returned a few days later.

He gave Jack a hello, let him pick out what he wants, gave him small talk and polite chit-chat like his mother raised him to give, and if he picked out the best-made desserts to go with Jack’s handsome face and slight smiles, well, then that was his secret to keep. Jack was a fan of exact change and good tips, so Bitty had no reason at all to dislike him. Jack was also a fan of Bitty’s apple pies and anything with maple or cinnamon, and Bitty took care to push those towards the front. It was autumn, after all. It made sense that those would be popular. Ransom, who worked the morning shift, and Holster, who worked the afternoon shift, both raised eyebrows at him; Chowder, their cleaner and something of an apprentice, clapped him on the back and praised his handiwork. Bitty blushed at them all and pretended he has no idea what they could possibly be talking about.

This all went on like that for a couple of weeks, until one day, when Bitty had had a long conversation about himself with his parents the night before, and it left him feeling kind of janky still the next morning. He was sorrowfully putting tiny pies in the oven to cook alongside his bigger works (a cherry pie and an apple pie with maple, shut up, Ransom, it’s in season) when Jack showed up that morning. It was earlier than he had come lately, which was fine, and Bitty offered him the best smile he could drag up. Jack frowned at him and asked for a breakfast muffin.

“You alright, Bittle?” Jack asked. Bitty smiled and half-shrugged as he handed over the muffin.

“Rough night,” Bitty answered. “Leading into a rough morning.” He held out Jack’s change and dropped it into his large palm. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack replied. His fist closed around his change before he dropped it in the tip jar and went digging through his pockets for a few more bills to shove in. He looked at Bitty for a second before he just lifted the muffin. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Bitty said, waiting for Jack to leave before he went back to his oven. Jack hovered for a second, then clapped Bitty on the shoulder.

“It’ll get better.” Jack squeezed Bitty’s shoulder, then frowned. “You’re bony. You should eat more protein.”

“Thank… you?” Bitty replied hesitantly. Jack dropped his hand and nodded to him before retreating to the food court. He commandeered his typical table and sat down, gingerly spreading out his napkin on the surface in front of him before setting his muffin down on it. He pulled at the muffin wrapper with a tired meticulousness that distracted Bitty from his own bad mood. He watched Jack, tugging at the wrapper, his black hair an untidy bed-head mess. Jack glanced up at Bitty and smiled, and Bitty felt his sour mood clear off like rainclouds. He smiled back.

* * *

Bitty got to return the favor to Jack only a week later, when Jack came in, heavy duffel bag over one shoulder, and just dropped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

“Whatever’s got maple,” Jack requested - no, more like _demanded_ , his face gloomy and glazed over, looking mad as hell and kinda sad and upset underneath it all, Bitty though. Bitty dug out the mini pie with nutmeg-maple cream he had had on the warmer and set it out for Jack to take. Jack picked it up like a zombie and started to turn away.

“Bad day?” Bitty asked, and Jack stopped moving, glancing back at Bitty like he was just now seeing him for the first time that day.

“You could say that,” Jack answered. He hefted his bag up and stared at Bitty, waiting for him to speak. Bitty reached down and dug through the fridge under the counter before resurfacing with milk.

“Goes well with the pie,” Bitty told him, holding it out. Jack hesitated, then reached out and accepted it. “On the house. Feel better.”

“Thank you, Bittle,” Jack said. He pushed the ten on the counter closer. “Keep the change.”

“Oh, no, we-”

“Keep it,” Jack insisted, turning to leave again. He retreated to his normal table and began to pick through the mini pie with his plastic fork. Bitty promptly turned, yanked his phone out of his pocket, and started Googling for a recipe. He had his syrup boiling and sugary by the time Jack was just about finished his mini pie, and he had the molds in the flash freezer by the time the last of Jack’s milk was gone.

“Before you go,” Bitty called, popping the maple candies out of their molds into one of their small treat bags and tying it up expertly with a ribbon. Jack paused, then approached the counter cautiously, still looking stormy. He handed it over to Jack, who looked as surprised as he ever had before. “Keep it.”

“What’s this?” Jack asked, starting to pull at the ribbon, but Bitty lightly smacked at his hand.

“It’s for later,” Bitty told him. “Save it until you’re home. Don’t let yourself get the better of you.” Bitty gave himself what he hoped was a transferrable smile. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling so hot. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Jack blinked at him, then back down at the bag. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart. Just have a good night.” Bitty smiled again and started tightening his apron strings, just for something to do with his hands. Gosh, Jack’s smile sure was handsome, even when it was small and kinda melancholy like that. Bitty just wanted to pull him in and hug him and fix everything that was hurting him.

“You, too, Bittle,” Jack said. He waited for a long second, the two of them looking at each other, before he turned and left. Bitty leaned his elbows on the counter to watch until Jack was out of view, sighing as Jack turned the corner. Holster peered around his shoulder.

“Was that Jack?” Holster asked, scaring the living daylights out of Bitty, who nearly punched Holster in his shock.

“Good God almighty, Holster, don’t you sneak up on me!” Bitty scolded, breathless. “No, it- _Yes_ , but-”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Holster said, grinning, before vanishing into the back. “Jack’s gone!”

“Awh, I missed him?” Lardo called back. “Did he at least leave Bitty his number this time?”

Bitty groaned and buried his face in his arms on the counter next to the register.

* * *

Jack’s tips were starting to get to be a little  _too_ much, Bitty thought. It was probably because he had money to burn - big hockey guy and all that, and Bitty swore he saw him when he was flipping past the sports channels the other day - but the amounts were starting to make Bitty a little bit uneasy. Sure, his pastries were great, but not  _that_ great, he thought. He poked at one of his setting puddings just as Jack came up.

The tips might have been getting to be a bit much, but Bitty had started with his plan to combat them. He had made an even fancier mini pie for Jack today, trying to outdo himself and actually _earn_ the outrageous tip this time. He handed it over to Jack without hesitation.

“No charge,” Bitty said hurriedly. Jack raised an eyebrow at him and reached for his back pocket anyway. “I mean it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been leaving here. We’re not a charity, Jack Zimmermann.”

“I’m not-”

“Eat your pie,” Bitty interrupted, pulling Jack’s hand out and placing the pie in it himself. “Then decide if it deserves the tip.”

Jack accepted the pie and retreated to his usual table, seemingly baffled both by Bitty and by the pie in his hands. He set himself up and took a small bite of the pie, appearing a bit hesitant. Bitty watched intently while trying (and failing) to seem like he was not; Lardo and Ransom watched him openly from the kitchen door. Jack glanced up at them, they all scattered, and he returned his attention to his pie. Once he took his first bite, he got up straightaway, came back up to the counter, and dropped a twenty in the tip jar.

“I’ll come back after I’m done,” Jack told Bitty, who was pretending to clear a perfectly clean spot on the counter. Bitty looked up to see Jack smiling right at him. “Good work, Bittle.”

Bitty blushed and sputtered before Jack laughed, which just caught Bitty so off-guard that he could do nothing but openly stare.

“Good luck topping this one,” Jack said, and Bitty probably did not _need_ to take it as a challenge, but take it as a challenge he did, and immediately. The entire next six days were filled with Bitty trying to top himself over and over, each day’s specialty getting increasingly more and more elaborate. Bitty was finishing off the coating of a set of maple chocolate jewels when Jack came up to the counter that Saturday.

“Alright, you win,” Jack said, handing over a ten. “You do know I’m a professional athlete, right?”

“I’ve heard tell,” Bitty replied, trying to get the edges just right. He glanced up at Jack briefly. “So?”

“So, I need to keep in shape, and you’re killing me here.” Jack shook the ten a little. “Back to normal?”

Bitty eyed him, then took the ten. “Back to normal,” he agreed. He handed over one of the maple chocolate jewels. “But you have to have one of these, I made them _special_ and, I have to say, they are just _so_ -”

“ _Bittle_.”

* * *

Jack passed by the bakery for the sixth time that day. Bitty sighed once he vanished from view again, and Lardo came up to lean next to him. Holster had called out that day, citing a cold that he strongly suspected might possibly be contagious, so Bitty was staying longer than usual.

“What’s with the stalker?” Lardo asked, as Jack ducked back into view, then vanished again before he even walked by this time. Bitty shrugged.

“He keeps looking at the pie up on the top there,” Bitty informed her, pointing to the domed pie display on top of the pastry case. Lardo stretched up onto the case to read the little note card Bitty had put in to describe the pie.

“Maybe it’s because walnut-apple-maple and you’re a tease like nobody’s ever met before,” Lardo answered dryly, dropping back down to the flats of her feet. Bitty did a bad job of acting offended.

“Lardo, stop that carryin’ on, you know I’d _never_ do _anything_ -”

“Drop it, Bitty,” Lardo interrupted, and Bitty deflated slightly before he just turned away.

“Well,” he said primly, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about and I won’t _stand_ for-”

“Hi, Jack,” Lardo said, and Bitty nearly tripped over his own feet while trying to simultaneously shut up and turn around. Jack looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in motion. He clearly was trying to pass them by again, his eye brought longingly to the pie case.

“Uhm.” Jack glanced at Bitty, then back to Lardo. “Hi.”

“Don’t want anything today?” Lardo asked. “Maybe Bitty can convince you something’s worth taking.” She clapped Bitty on the shoulder before ducking back into the kitchen, leaving Bitty and Jack to stare at each other for a long moment.

“I don’t-”

“I know you want the pie,” Bitty interrupted before Jack could dig himself too deep into his own lie. “Just take it.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, right, Mr. Professional Athlete.” Bitty lifted the dome off the pie. “Look, if it bothers you so much, sweetheart, I’ll just _give_ it to you.”

Jack frowned at him. “What? It’s a whole pie. I only take the mini pies you make for me.”

“First of all, I don’t make anything special for you,” Bitty lied. Jack smiled at him. “Second of all, I didn’t make _this_ special for you, either.” Jack’s eyebrow lifted a little. Bitty just kept barreling on. “And _third_ of all, buying you this pie would be worth it just to see you stop staring longingly at it like that and walking by every other minute looking like Romeo without a Juliet. Now, would you like the pie?”

“Juliet?” Jack said - somewhat dumbly, Bitty thought, but it was endearing how lost he seemed to be, and Bitty knew he could talk fast when he wanted to, and it’s not like either of them was being completely honest with the other.

“Take the pie,” Bitty insisted, pulling it off the display and setting it in one of the travel boxes. Jack protested weakly the entire time Bitty wrapped it, but by the time Bitty was done, Jack was more than willing to accept it.

“Share it with your friends, if it bothers you,” Bitty told him, and Jack shrugged.

“Maybe,” Jack replied. “But if you made it special for _me_ -”

“ _Jack Zimmermann_ ,” Bitty scolded, faux-scandalized but doing a fairly good job of acting real-scandalized, he thought, as Jack dropped a ten in the tip jar and vanished into thin air.

“Thanks for the pie!” he called back. Bitty could not help but grin back at the smile aimed at him as Jack turned the corner back into the mall.

* * *

Bitty liked to pride himself on keeping a pretty even head. His temper was fairly calm, he was usually a mediator in other people’s arguments, and it took a lot to get him to act out any of the negative emotions he felt at any given moment.

Somehow, the asshole standing on the other side of his counter that Tuesday afternoon had figured out just about every button to push to get Bitty’s Southern temper out in full force. Bitty was practically leaning over the counter by the time Jack rounded the corner into the food court, his finger in the guy’s face.

“And I will have _you_ know, the way you have spoken to both me and to Ms. Duan, who is the _owner_ of this _establishment_ , by the way, is more than grounds for expulsion from the food court and from the mall as a whole-”

“Don’t you come at me with that when you know _you’re_ the ones dirtying up this place with your backwards-”

“And that’s another thing!” Bitty exploded. “Don’t you presume to know a goddamn thing about me, because I will have _you_ know, sir, that my life has no bearing on yours and you have _no right_ -”

“Both you and that prissy prick of a manager of yours can just fuck straight off to Hell where you belong, I know which cars are yours, I’m gonna be there after-”

“What the hell is going on here?” Jack interrupted, and Bitty would have been more surprised to see him if he had not been spitting nails just then.

“I’m handling this, Jack,” Bitty told him before turning to continuing arguing at the man spitting curses and slurs at him. Lardo had long since vanished - though Bitty had no idea where to - and Jack was looking increasingly more and more concerned. The guy started to reach over the counter for Bitty, and Bitty smacked his hands away.

“Don’t you touch me,” Bitty warned, and the guy cocked back and socked him in the jaw. Bitty was stunned only for a second before he set to hauling himself over the counter to fight back against him; Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back into the bakery.

“We need to calm down,” Jack told him sternly, his face clouded with concern and confusion and other emotions Bitty could not quite decipher when he was _this_ mad. He dodged out of Jack’s grip and made for the guy again, but Jack yanked him back by the wrist and pulled him into the kitchen.

“You’re going to bruise, chéri, we have to get some ice on you, eh?” Jack muttered, pulling Bitty towards the sink and the refrigerator. Bitty tugged at him again, and Jack’s grip tightened like iron gauntlets around his wrists. “It’s not worth it, Bittle.”

“But he was saying such _terrible_ things, and then he was talking about Lardo and then he-” Bitty broke off and took a deep breath. Jack helped him sit down on the floor; Bitty put his head between his knees, and Jack’s touch vanished as he started digging around in the fridge for ice cubes. He gathered a bunch in a dish towel he yanked off a cabinet knob and knelt down to gently pull Bitty’s head back.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jack asked quietly, and Bitty nodded, letting Jack press the ice to his face. Jack held it there for a long moment before Bitty took it from him and held it himself.

“He was very rude,” Bitty said eventually, and Jack huffed a laugh. Bitty looked up at him incredulously.

“That sounds like an understatement,” Jack explained, and Bitty led his head drop against Jack’s shoulder. Jack hesitantly reached out and rubbed Bitty’s back gingerly, and Bitty couldn’t even _enjoy_ it because he was so mad. He had half a mind to go right back out there and-

“Hey,” Jack said, interrupted his thoughts, “calm down. You were doing so well.”

“I’m sorry, I just, I get so _mad_ when I hear people say things like that, and then he, how _dare_ he, he just-”

“I know, Bittle,” Jack assured him, still rubbing at his back. Bitty leaned back to look up at him. They made eye contact for so long that Bitty could see a freckle in Jack’s left iris. Jack eventually reached up and pulled the ice away from Bitty’s face. “You’re gonna bruise.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass, that’s what I’m gonna do, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty muttered under his breath, but there was barely any heat left in it. Lardo pushed open the door to the kitchen, and Jack’s hand jerked back from Bitty’s face. Bitty might have been imagining things, but it felt like his jaw hurt worse without Jack touching it.

“Security escorted him out, said he’s not welcome in the mall again,” Lardo informed him. She came to crouch next to Jack, taking Bitty’s chin in her hand and tipping his head to better see. “I think that’s gonna leave a bruise, Bitty.”

“Jack was telling me,” Bitty murmured, chin unmoving as Lardo held him. Lardo sat back, glancing at Jack.

“Security offered to escort us to our cars tonight,” Lardo informed Bitty, turning her attention back to him. “Apparently the guy was saying some stuff about waiting by our cars to finish us off. He sounds like a bad villain.”

“I hope he’s waiting there! I’d like to give him a piece of my mind! And _another_ thing-”

“Bitty,” Lardo said softly, and Bitty went quiet. “I know.”

Bitty let out a breath, deflating. “I know you know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” She leaned in and let him kiss her cheek. “Do you want security to escort us out tonight?”

“I’ll do it,” Jack offered immediately. Bitty frowned up at him, wincing a little when the movement tugged wrong on his jaw. “If you don’t mind. I can help you.”

“That’s fine,” Bitty answered, looking to Lardo. “That’s fine with us, right? If he wants to help.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Lardo agreed. She stood up and offered Bitty a hand; he took it gratefully. “Why don’t we close up for the day?”

“Oh, but Jack didn’t get his pie,” Bitty argued, turning to Jack as he dusted himself off.

“Bring it to the car,” Lardo suggested. “I’ll get your coat.”

“Thanks, Lardo.” Bitty disappeared to the front of the shop again before returning with a mini pie. He held it out to Jack, then snatched it away. “I’m bringing it to the _car_ , remember?”

“Fine, fine,” Jack allowed, pulling his hands back. He escorted Lardo, Jack, and their heavy coats out to their cars. Lardo waved to them both before climbing into a car with a bunch of Shitty’s knickknacks on the dashboard. She sped off before Bitty and Jack could even say goodbye next to Bitty’s shitbox of a car.

“Thanks for your help,” Bitty said, trying not to look like he was afraid of the shadows of the mall’s parking garage. “I really appreciate it.”

Jack smiled down at him. “I’m happy to help.” He held out his hand, and Bitty stared at it, then up at Jack’s face, bewildered. He reached up as if to take the hand, and Jack raised an eyebrow. “I was promised pie?”

Bitty smacked Jack on the chest. “Jack Zimmermann, you have a one-track mind.” Bitty pulled the little pie container out of his coat pocket and handed it over. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Bittle,” Jack replied, offering him a wave before heading off towards, presumably, his own car. Bitty waved, got into his car, and drove off.

The next couple of days saw Jack doing the same thing, even after Bitty insisted he no longer had to. Once Jack had seen Bitty’s black-and-blue bruise blossomed on his skin that second day, mottled across his jaw, it would have taken a crowbar to get him off. Bitty appreciated Jack sticking to his side like glue, but by the fourth day, he figured the guy was not going to come back.

“Jack, I appreciate you helping me out, I really do, but you don’t need to waste any more of your time,” Bitty said to him as he led them both out to his shitbox. He saw Jack’s eyes dart to his dark bruise in his peripherals, but neither of them mentioned it. “I think we’re going to be alright.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asked. He leaned against the back of Bitty’s car. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I don’t think he’s going to come back.” Bitty hesitated before leaning against his car, too, not wanting to seem like he was trying too hard. “I think I’m safe now. And you haven’t even been walking Lardo the past couple days, so I don’t think-”

“Only if you’re sure,” Jack assured him before Bitty could rip off on a tangent. “I hate to think of you being somewhere you aren’t safe, Bittle.”

“Yeah?” Bitty asked, and Jack looked down at him, steel in his eyes. It seemed warmer to Bitty than he thought it maybe should have.

“Yes,” Jack said. He slid a little closer to Bitty, and Bitty wanted to step forward and take the space between them away, fill it with himself and with Jack and put his hand on Jack’s and his mouth on Jack’s and just- “Bitty?”

“Yeah, Jack?” Bitty asked, and, oh, Lord, he sounded _breathless_ , good gravy, get it _together_ -

“I asked if you were going to be working tomorrow,” Jack repeated. Bitty was pretty darn sure Jack knew his schedule by now, but the man was nothing if not subtly charming. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Bitty told him, even though he was having a tiny meltdown inside of his own head, complete with sirens and screaming. Oh, my God, it was _Jack_ . It was always Jack. Jack, who came in every day, to a _bakery_ , even though he was a _professional athlete_ who needed to keep in shape. Jack, who brightened Bitty’s day _every_ day, with his handsome face and his bright blue eyes and his white-teeth smile. Jack, who -

Who was leaning in to Bitty, oh, _God,_ all systems crashing, Bitty’s brain was whirring, he was staring up at Jack in shock, and Jack stared right back at him. Bitty swayed in, just a little bit, and Jack kept watching him, cautious, red-faced.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” Bitty asked, his voice soft. It still felt too big for the space between them.

“Are you alright, Bittle?” Jack said again. Bitty nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Bitty assured him, even though, my God, he was _not_ okay. Jack smiled and leaned back, and Bitty almost shouted _no!_ but stopped himself at the last moment. He hummed a little bit instead.

“Then I guess I’ll see you later,” Jack said, pulling back completely and heading off towards his own car. Bitty offered him a wave.

“Oh, and I am working tomorrow!” Bitty called after him, and Jack turned to walk backwards.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jack shouted, tossing a wave back at him. He jumped back around so he could walk forwards, and he disappeared into the parking lot. Bitty slumped against his car, his hands covering his face.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered emphatically. His echo agreed with him.

* * *

Bitty was nothing if he was not an amazing actor, he thought to himself as he filled maple leaf molds with the maple sugar. He  _deserved_ to be called an amazing actor; heck, he deserved an Oscar, what with the performance he had been putting on with Jack and Lardo and, well, everybody for the past couple weeks since he had had his little realization. Nobody caught on; nobody was the wiser. Bitty hummed to himself as he poured the boiling sugar.

“Jack’s here,” Chowder whispered in his ear as he breezed by with a Swiffer. He nearly tripped over his own feet, but caught himself on the mop handle at the last moment. He ducked into the back as Bitty scanned the food court. Jack, sure enough, had slid in, and was apparently pretending to look at the choices for restaurants in the food court like he might choose something different. He approached the bakery, same as always, and leaned over the counter, grinning away.

“Good morning, Bittle,” Jack said. “Are you making maple candies again?”

“They taste good in the winter,” Bitty defended himself. Jack laughed.

“I’m not going to argue against you making maple candies,” Jack assured him. “They’re some of my favorites.” He leaned over to look into the display case. “Which one’s for me?”

“ _None_ are for you, Mr. Zimmermann, and all of them are for the patrons of the Haus,” Bitty reminded him haughtily, smiling at the end when his charade slipped. Jack laughed again.

“Come on,” Jack asked, leaning down to read the tags on the plates better. He fished his glasses out of his messenger bag and slipped them on. “Maple cinnamon rolls?”

“Those are _not_ -”

“I’ll have a couple,” Jack told him, tucking his glasses into his shirt pocket. Bitty rang him up with minimal dramatic grumbling, and Jack tipped him a grandiose amount, as per usual. Jack took his plate and left Bitty a wink. He headed over to his table and set up like usual, and Bitty went back to pretending to ignore him while he finished his candies. Chowder slid up to his side after a few minutes, his hands wet with dish soap.

“Hey, Bitty,” Chowder murmured, ducking his head down like he was trying to hide his face. “I think… Now, I don’t _know_ , but it looks like Jack is taking pictures of you? On his fancy camera? And I don’t know for _sure_ , but I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable with that, or if I should tell you, or if-”

“He’s _what_ ?” Bitty asked, his head snapping around to look at Jack. Jack was staring down into his maple cinnamon rolls, but he was staring _very_ intently, and his camera was on the table next to him. Bitty hopped up over the counter and marched right up to him.

“Camera, Zimmermann,” Bitty demanded, and Jack stared up at him with comically wide blue eyes. Bitty knew he was guilty of _something_ immediately.

“I don’t know what-”

“ _Camera_.”

“Why are you-”

“Jack.” Bitty held out his hand. “Camera.”

Jack and Bitty stared at each other, a game of chicken, before Jack finally caved, blinking, turning away, and forking over his camera. Bitty snapped it on and started flipping through the gallery. Sure enough, there was a picture of him from only minutes before. Actually, a series of pictures from minutes before. Actually, scratch that; nearly every photo in the camera was of him. There were some of hockey rinks, of frozen lakes, of some geese. But most were of him. Bitty flipped through them, faster and faster, before he cycled back around to the one from that morning. He looked up at Jack, who was staring resolutely at the tabletop, his face as red as Bitty’s, if not redder.

“Jack…” Bitty began, then trailed off, not knowing quite what to say. He cleared his throat, looking down at the photo of him on the camera’s display screen. “Jack.”

“Yeah?” Jack said, staring down at his hands. His maple cinnamon buns remained uneaten. Bitty watched him, studying the back of his dark head, the curve of his knuckles as his fingers clenched on the table. He hesitated, then put the camera down.

“You have a lot of talent,” Bitty said eventually. Jack paused, then looked up at him, brows drawn.

“What?” Jack asked, incredulous. “Bittle-”

“These are really beautifully… composed.” Bitty touched the top of the camera, then leaned down to turn the camera off. Jack’s face was startlingly close to his, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Bitty forced himself to pull away. “I’m flattered.”

“Bittle, I’m a photographer, I’m not trying to be creepy, I swear, I’m _so_ sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Bitty assured him, a little alarmed at hearing the most words Jack had ever strung together at one time. “Really, don’t be sorry. They’re beautiful shots. Maybe you can take one of the both of us together sometime.”

Jack’s face lightened. He picked up the camera and offered it to Bitty. “We can take one, if you want.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bitty agreed. Jack turned the camera back on and stood. Bitty hesitated, then inched closer to Jack. He felt the electricity crackle like in a movie or a harlequin book, while also feeling the gut-wrenching fear that came with being this close to the object of his affections, both physically and emotionally. Jack turned the camera on them, and Bitty stretched up onto his toes. Jack crouched down and snapped the picture.

“Make sure to give me a copy of that one,” Bitty said, pulling away from Jack. He counted it as both a Herculean effort and one of the hardest things he has had to do in recent memory. Jack stared down at him. “See you later, Jack.”

“See you, Bitty,” Jack answered, and Bitty lingered for a moment before heading back to the bakery. He could feel Jack’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He wasn’t ready. Jack wasn’t ready. Jesus _Christ_ , what were they doing.

Bitty steeled himself and hopped back over the counter.

* * *

“Is there another line?” Lardo asked, heaving out a stack of clean dishes and takeout containers. Bitty took the next person’s order and exchanged them a slice of pumpkin pie for their cash and tip. “Jesus Christ, Bitty. We’ve only been getting more and more popular lately.”

“Must be the holidays,” Bitty replied. He motioned the next person forwards and started listening to their order.

“I’m guessing it’s the little show my baker puts on with a famous hockey player every single day,” Lardo commented, setting the dishes down next to Bitty. Bitty turned to her abruptly, exchange forgotten. The woman looked slightly annoyed, but mostly intrigued by their conversation.

“What ‘little show’?” Bitty demanded. Lardo shrugged in a way that very much suggested she knew exactly what she meant.

“Oh, here’s the leading man now,” Lardo said, distracted by Jack’s appearance near the display case. Bitty felt his face heat up almost immediately. “Right on cue, Bitty. Good work.”

“You can just hush your mouth, Lardo,” Bitty hissed under his breath. “You take the register, if you want, then.” Bitty pushed away from the counter and leaned over towards the display case instead, resting his arms on top of it and smiling at Jack. Jack smiled back.

“Good afternoon, Bittle,” Jack greeted him, and Bitty resisted the urge to sigh and kiss him. “How’s your day been?”

“Better now,” Bitty answered, and Jack’s cheeks reddened a little bit, but his expression remained unchanged. Master of the poker face, Jack Zimmermann, everybody. “Yours?”

“Much better,” Jack said. He leaned over the counter towards Bitty. “Got anything special for me today?”

“You know I always do,” Bitty answered, retrieving Jack’s dish from the display case. He had long since given up pretending he did not make desserts special for Jack anymore, since their little picture incident. He could feel things coming to a head; he just didn’t know when. Or where. Or how. And, God, was the suspense killing him, the tension choking him whenever Jack was nearby.

Bitty set the dish between them on top of the display case. Jack pulled it closer towards him and examined it. “Is this… Did you make Saskatoon berry pie?”

“I’m running out of Canadian desserts, Mr. Zimmermann. I’m really reaching here,” Bitty reminded him. Jack pinched a bit of the crust off between two fingers.

“No, I like it.” Jack tasted the crust. “Actually, I love it. My mom makes this. I bet you could exchange recipes with her.”

Bitty stared up at him, wanting nothing more than to pull him over the display case and make out with him on the floor Chowder had _just_ cleaned. “That would be nice. I’m glad you love the… pie. The pie.”

“Me, too,” Jack answered. He glanced down at watch. “Oh, merde, fuck, I was only supposed to stop in on my way to a meeting with George.” He turned his attention back up to Bitty. “I’m so sorry, chéri. I’ll be back tomorrow, though.”

“Take your time,” Bitty said, somewhat stupidly. He shook himself and pushed the mini pie towards Jack. “Don’t forget. Oh!” Bitty crouched down to search the display case before resurfacing with small, well-made doughboys. He dusted a little more powdered sugar on them and wrapped them and Jack’s mini pie up in little take-out boxes. “Take those for George. I know they’re her favorites.”

“Bittle…” Jack began, watching him. He took the take-out boxes when they were held out to him. He didn’t say what he wanted to say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Neither did Bitty. Jack left with a wave over his shoulder, which Bitty returned until Jack was gone. His hand hovered, half in the air, and Lardo started clapping.

“When’s the encore!” she cheered, and Bitty barely glanced at her before he disappeared through the kitchen door. He heard Lardo telling the customers that the show was over, and he started searching on his phone for a recipe for the next day, ignoring everything his heart and his brain and his shaking hands were telling him.

* * *

Bitty had been stressing out over Jack the past week -  _bad_ . It was starting to consume; the fire had erupted from a smolder to a five-alarm problem, and he had to do something about it. If it was put it out, so be it. He couldn’t keep living this.

“Hi, Jack,” Bitty greeted him when Jack arrived. Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

“You seem kind of down, Bittle,” Jack mentioned, and Bitty frowned.

“I don’t come to where you work and insult your face, so kindly don’t do the same to me, thank you very much, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty murmured.

“Well, where I work can get kind of loud, I probably wouldn’t hear you,” Jack joked. Bitty laughed a little, despite himself. Jack reached out towards him, then pulled back. “I’m sorry you’re feeling down.”

“Just a bad mood,” Bitty assured him. _Liar_. “Shake it off, right?”

“Yeah, right.” Jack glanced at the display case, then back at Bitty. “Actually, you know what? I forgot my wallet at home. I have to go get it. I’m so sorry.”

“You can just take your dessert today, you’ve more than paid for it in advance with tips,” Bitty told him, but Jack was already backing away.

“I need my wallet, Bittle, it’s got… My license! And all my money.” Jack tossed him a wave. “Be right back.”

“Yeah, alright, see you soon,” Bitty said, waving back. Jack vanished, and Lardo, Chowder, Ransom, and Holster (who were in the middle of switching off shifts) were all up Bitty’s ass in a heartbeat.

“He didn’t get anything?”

“Where’s he going?”

“Did he say he forgot his wallet? Haven’t we given him free desserts before?”

“I think I saw his wallet in his pocket.”

“Is he going home?”

“Did you say something mean, Bitty?”

“Bitty looks mad, I don’t know.”

“Bitty _does_ look mad.”

“Did _Jack_ say something mean, Bitty?”

“All of y’all better hush up now before I make you hush up,” Bitty interrupted, and Lardo grinned.

“He just means he’d put a piece of pie in each of our mouths so we couldn’t talk,” Lardo jested, and Bitty smiled a little. Ransom and Holster scattered, and Chowder patted Bitty’s shoulder before returning to work. “It’ll be alright, Bitty. Lighten up.”

“Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say when I can hear you and Shitty doing _unspeakable_ things in my walk-in fridge,” Bitty grumbled, but he was still smiling. Lardo pressed a hand to her chest, faux-surprised.

“ _Your_ walk-in fridge?” Lardo asked, incredulous, and Bitty laughed, despite himself. Lardo went back to straightening out the displays and making chocolate cakes while Bitty waited for Jack to come back.

And come back Jack did, forty-five minutes later, with a thermos in his hand and Shitty on his heels. Jack’s face was red; it must be cold out, Bitty thought. Maybe even snowing.

“I had to see this,” Shitty explained when Lardo looked confused at his presence there. “As soon as Jack came back to the apartment, I knew I had to see what he was doing today.”

Jack wholeheartedly ignored Shitty and offered Bitty the thermos. “I’m not much of a cook, but I made you some hot chocolate. I thought you might like some to make you feel better.”

“Jack Zimmermann, did you really forget your wallet?” Bitty teased, reaching under the counter to grab two mugs. “Lardo, I’m taking my break.”

“Sure thing,” Lardo answered, but saying under her breath, “Take a vacation, for all I care, just come back with this _solv_ -”

“That’s enough, Lardo,” Shitty interrupted loudly, steering her towards the display case and out of earshot, but definitely, Bitty noted, not out of their line of vision. Bitty jumped over the counter and followed Jack to his usual table. They sat across from each other, and Jack stayed quiet while Bitty poured them mugs full of Jack’s hot chocolate. Jack had tried baking at the shop a couple of times for fun, and he was absolutely terrible at it. He never knew what he was doing, he was hopeless even with a recipe, and he always got flour everywhere. So, Bitty was hesitant taking his first sip of hot chocolate, but found himself more than pleasantly surprised.

“This is really good, Jack,” Bitty said, and Jack laughed, picking up his own mug.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised about it,” Jack replied, and Bitty raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, don’t I? Remember the chocolate bottom butter tarts?” Bitty reminded him, and Jack pointed at him.

“We swore never to speak of that again,” Jack said. Bitty smiled around the rim of his mug. He could swear he could taste maple somewhere underneath all the chocolate; then again, it was Jack. Jack, who was putting his mug down and staring down at his hands. Bitty put his own mug down and watched Jack cautiously. Bitty kept his hands wrapped around his mug, letting the warmth ground him. His heart started to beat too quickly in his chest, pounding in his throat.

“Jack?” Bitty asked. Jack glanced up at him and smiled, one of his small ones. Bitty’s breath caught. “Are you alright?”

Jack looked like he had a lot he wanted to say. He looked at Bitty for a long time, seeming like something was right on the tip of his tongue. Bitty waited, anxiety throbbing against his ribcage, anticipation filling his stomach up with fluttering and bricks, all at once. Jack still looked like a novel was waiting in his mouth.

What he ended up saying, though, was just, “Bitty,” before he sat up roughly, reached across the table, pulled Bitty in by his apron front, and kissed him like he might run away. Bitty stared at him for a long moment, wide-eyed. Jack let him go, stared at his face for a second, then kissed him again. Bitty did pull away this time, but only so he could stand up and get the table out from between them. Jack shoved his chair backwards in his haste to get up, the chair bottoms screeching across the food court tile, and shot to his feet like a rocket. Bitty let himself get pulled in close, Jack leaning down over him to reach his mouth.

“Bitty,” Jack said again, and Bitty nodded, smiling.

“Yeah.” Bitty agreed. “Jack.”

Jack huffed out a breath, smiling wide, all white teeth and red cheeks and such a sweet relief, and Bitty kissed him because he _had_ to, because he _could_. They both tasted a little maple-y. Bitty thought nothing could have been more perfect than this, than Jack’s hands around the sides of his head, than Jack’s lips on his, than Jack’s heartbeat pounding under Bitty’s hand when he pressed it to Jack’s chest and let himself get lost in the world he had only been half-living in for the past few months.

“Thank you,” Jack murmured against his lips. Bitty grinned.

“You are very welcome, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty replied, and Jack kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This took ten different AU prompts, a lot of Disney music, way too much ignoring of work, and a couple late nights. I'd say it was relatively worth it.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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